


Where Are They Now?

by posingasme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Actor Castiel, Because I've been told to, College Student Sam, Con Artists, M/M, Photographer Castiel, Tag Your Shit, Vanitello the Ninja Smurfle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-05-27 08:37:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6277420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/posingasme/pseuds/posingasme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is a photographer. But everyone remembers when he was something else: a prodigious child actor on a popular television series that is experiencing an unexpected revival due to new technology and a determined fandom that apparently never moved on. They're even talking about a reunion. So when fellow college student Sam contacts him for tutoring in his photography course, Castiel assumes it is because he's a fan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Starring Castiel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rosworms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosworms/gifts).



> Don't let me hear you say  
> Life's taking you nowhere  
> Angel. 
> 
> Nothing's gonna touch you  
> In these golden years...
> 
> ~David Bowie

“Raphael going to be there?”

Gabriel began to laugh. “Of course. You think either of the ninja turtles will miss out on the spotlight?”

Castiel sighed heavily, and shifted his phone to the other side. What he really wanted to do was hang up. “But have they committed?”

“Raphael jumped on it. Michael is pretending to consider, but he’ll be there. No way he's going to be the one to not show up.”

“No, that would be me.”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “You're not serious.”

“Completely. I'm busy, and anyway-”

A decidedly inelegant snort came over the line. “Busy with what? You haven't worked in ten years!”

Castiel's eyebrow quirked, and he frowned. “I haven't...I've chosen not to work, Gabe, at least the way you mean. I'm only twenty-two, and I'm doing what guys my age do. I'm getting a degree.”

“What would you know about what guys your age do?”

This conversation was grating on his nerves. “As you pointed out so kindly, I haven't worked in years. I'm trying to fit in with my own-”

“Peers? Are you about to say peers? Because you don't have peers.”

“Everyone has peers.”

“Castiel, the only person you're fooling is you. You're not some normal kid.”

“And I'm not Molly Ringwald or Macaulay Culkin either!”

“You're right. They've worked in the past few years.”

He realized he was pacing his apartment, and he made himself sit down. His forehead dropped into his hand. “Gabe, I'm a photographer. Okay? You remember those? They're the ones that follow the rest of you around all day. I'm one of those. And it makes me happy. And believe it or not, I'm damn good at it. I've been published several-”

“And you think that's got nothing to do with who you are? Kiddo, seriously! You're drinking your own kool aid, man.”

Castiel flinched. “That's not true. I'm not...I'm a good artist, Gabe.”

“You're a good actor. Play the role! You know how many guys would kill to get the scripts you send back unread?”

“Call my agent and you two can bitch about it together. I'm not doing this, and that's final.”

Gabriel sighed. “Cas, look. Balt is out of rehab. Hannah is taking time from her projects.”

He chewed on his lip, then closed his eyes. “Balt and Hannah will be there?”

“Haeli might even fly in. Remember her? Guest starred regularly in season four?”

“Yeah. I remember her. No clue how you remember what season was what, though.”

Gabriel sounded amused, and maybe a bit fond of him. “We weren't all ten when the show finished its run, kiddo. Some of us were actual adults.”

“Right.” He shook his head. “Do I have to give my answer now?”

He could practically hear the grin. “Nope. I'll just tell everyone else you're in, and then you can disappoint them all if that's what you really want.”

“You're a dick.”

“Love you too, little brother.”

He wished Gabriel would stop calling him that. “God. A reunion. Who's stupid idea was this?”

“Mine.”

Castiel closed his eyes again. “Why?”

The voice softened. “Could be I miss you, and guilting you into something like this is the only way to draw you out. Could be I'm trying to resurrect what used to be some really great friendships. Could be good for our careers, including sales of the box set, and promoting our new projects. Could be that I'm a dick.”

“Is this multiple choice?”

“I'm putting you down as an enthusiastic yes. And I'm calling your agent and telling him to get off his ass and do something for the first time in a decade. And then I'm calling Naomi and using you as bait to make her come.”

Castiel knew he should be grateful that so many old friends and fans cared that he even still walked the earth, let alone tried so hard to draw him out. But his chest was already beginning to tighten, and he knew it would only get worse as this reunion loomed closer.

He sighed. “Okay. Fine. Why not? It's been a while since I sold my soul. Guess I'm due for a little indignity. I mean, selling box sets of _Angels Among Us_ , that is my highest priority.”

“Well, the network appreciates your ongoing dedication,” Gabriel growled, “you spoiled, entitled, ungrateful little shit.”

Castiel smirked. “Wow. There's the Gabe I remember. Can't believe it's taken us twelve years to get back together. I'll be there. Gotta see Raphael up close to see if the rumors about the plastic surgeries are true.”

Gabriel sighed. His temper was intense, but it never lasted long. “Remember what we used to call him? Because you used to watch _The Smurfs_ while you did your homework on set?”

At last, Castiel gave a real laugh. “Vanitello the Ninja Smurfle. I had a dream a while back that we were trying to do an intervention, because he wouldn't stop getting plastic done, and I accidentally called him Vanity where he could hear it, and he beat the snot out of me.”

“I wouldn't let him.”

“You weren't there.”

Gabriel let his voice soften again. “I'm always there for you, Cassie. Good luck with the photography, but don't forget about this. Some of us miss you, little brother.”

When he said it like that, it was hard to resent it. “Call me when there are details.”

He hung up and turned to stare off his balcony. It took him a moment to remember what he had been doing before Gabriel's call had thrown him off balance.

“Oh,” he muttered, and pulled his phone back out to return the other surprise call for the day. He listened to the rambling voice message again.

“Hey. Um, look, you don't know me, but I'm a bit of a fan, and...I'm in your photography-Well, not your photography class, I mean; I'm in the studio for the basics class while you're doing your work...Anyway, I just hoped...I've never done badly in a class before, and I guess I thought...If you had any time, maybe...The professor gave me your number to ask for some help. I'll pay for it, obviously...If you're too busy, I just-I understand; you're basically famous...But it would help me a lot, and...You know, if you could call or text or whatever you think...Oh. My name is Sam. Did I say that? Sam Winchester.”

Castiel sighed. A fan. He shouldn't be surprised. The child star of an insanely popular and weirdly still-relevant show couldn't go anywhere without being recognized, even all these years later. It was gaining a resurgence among folks their age, oddly enough. He blamed Netflix and nostalgia, and made a mental note to have a talk with the professor about giving out his number.

But the caller was wrong. He did know who he was. Of course he did. He was Sam Winchester. He was a junior, who sat on the university’s Honor Council, and also worked at the library, and he volunteered at events the LGBTQ fraternities organized, and people said he might be in the junior class top ten, and he had set some swimming record his freshman year...Yeah. Castiel knew who he was. The fact that he was something like six feet four inches of gorgeous, quiet charisma made him impossible to miss.

Castiel supposed it was a little hypocritical to judge Sam for being a fanboy, considering that he was Castiel's favorite sight to see on campus. In spite of the fact that they hadn't actually been introduced, Castiel knew more about Sam than some of his own fans knew about _him_.

He smiled to himself and texted a quick response. After all, the guy needed help, and Castiel needed something to take his mind off this ridiculous reunion spectacle. He might as well use something as stunning as Sam Winchester as a distraction for a little while.


	2. Starring Sam...Not Sammy

Somehow, when he came to visit, Dean always seemed to make himself more at home than anyone who actually lived in Sam's apartment.

Sam was literally biting his tongue in that chin jutting, tight-lipped way that made Dean accuse him of having a “pouty, bitchy underbite,” whatever that meant.

His brother looked up at him. “You're doing it again.”

The younger man threw his hands in the air and heaved himself to his feet for no good reason. “Doing what?” he demanded as he began picking up Dean's abandoned clothing at random.

“The bitchface.”

This earned him a glare which would have disintegrated most people’s conceit.

Dean Winchester was not like most people. He wasn't even like any people. He was his own species; Sam was certain of it. “Sammy, look-”

“It's Sam!”

It was Dean's turn to throw his hands up, but his palms faced Sam and the fingers spread in a defensive gesture. “Hey. Okay. Whatever.”

“And you look! You came to visit for a weekend, which was two weeks ago by the way, and now you're taking up most of the apartment! I don't even get how that's possible, since you don't even own anything!”

Green eyes blinked. “I own stuff!”

Sam began tossing objects at his brother. “Leather jacket. Dad’s. Black tee shirt. Mine. Belt. Some random girl you brought back yesterday. Poker chips. Uncle Bobby's!”

“Hey! They're-” He huffed out a breath as the heavy wooden chip box hit him in the stomach, engraved side up.

“Unless B. S. stands for the bullshit you're made out of, I'm thinking these are Uncle Bobby's!”

Dean examined the box as he sat up. “Oh. These might be Bobby's,” he admitted.

“That book you're reading? It's Andy’s. You don't even read. Give it to me!”

“Hey!” Dean yelped again. He reached for the book on its way to Sam's desk. “I read!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Name one other thing Kurt Vonnegut ever-”

“ _Slaughterhouse_. Now give me it.”

The younger man’s eyes narrowed. “You...Since when do you read?”

Dean grabbed the book back out of Sam’s unsure hands. “And the jacket’s mine, jackass. It’s been mine for years.”

“Dean?”

The older brother sighed, and a bit of pink colored his cheeks. “I borrowed _Cat’s Cradle_ from Andy the first time I crashed here, and I’ve been working my way through his stuff since.”

“Dean, you have always hated reading. You skipped more English classes than you attended!”

He frowned and refused to look back up at Sam. “I read. It just...takes me longer than it takes you, okay? And I don’t like writing a stupid essay about it after. I just want to read it. That a problem? Andy never bitched about me reading his stuff. He say something?”

Sam sighed too, and shook his head. “No, I...No, he doesn’t mind. I’m just…”

“High-strung?”

“Stressed,” Sam corrected with a groan. He dropped back into his desk chair. “And you’re the only one I don’t feel bad about taking it out on.”

Dean tossed the book onto the nightstand, and gave his full attention to his brother. “Okay. What’s going on with you?”

He was going to regret bringing anything up; he knew it. “It’s fine. I’m figuring it out.”

“Figuring what out? Need me to-”

“What?” Sam snapped. “Break something? Steal something? Break into someplace and steal something?”

He took a long breath and let it out very slowly. “I can tell you exactly what I’m going to break if you don’t knock it off. Let’s handle your attacks in order, shall we? I’m couch surfing because I’m doing what you asked me to do, and going straight. That means leaving a lucrative business behind, and the house we worked it out of too. I can go back to thieving with Bela anytime you want. You’re the one who had a problem with us running cons. I gave up good money and great sex because you were squeamish about me working over stupid, terrible people. So let me know if you think I should come outta retirement.”

Sam glared at him, but he had nothing to say.

“Right,” Dean smirked. “And as for me taking up your whole apartment with crap that isn’t mine, you can bite me. Andy and Lilly are the ones who leave their socks in the kitchen sink. That was not me! I get blamed for everything those potheads do.”

“Dean-”

“So why don’t you tell me what the hell is actually bothering you before I paint that wall with your face? I’ve had enough. I was going to ask if you wanted me to go out and get you something to drink, or needed me to pack up and leave, jackass, both of which are looking like better ideas all the time.”

A sudden burst of guilt swam through him. “No. I’m sorry. No, I don’t mean to be such a bitch.” He let his head fall into his hands. “God, Dean. I’m so stressed out.”

His brother was nodding. “I get that. And you want to talk about it. So talk about it.”

He smiled then, and looked up. “You’ve changed a lot in the past year, man. A lot. Was getting to the point...it didn’t feel like we were brothers at all anymore. God, sometimes, I didn’t even have any idea where you were that month.”

“I’m always there for you, little brother.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know. I just worried about you.”

“Don’t. Spit it out.”

Sam took a breath and sat back. “I’m going to fail a class.”

Dean watched him for a few beats before his expression finally registered the words. “Wait. What? That’s what this is about? You failing a class? Dude, you know how many classes I’ve failed over the years?”

He shouldn’t expect Dean to understand. Dean had never cared about school. He had been proud of Sam, but that was the extent of his interest in anything academic. “It’s not just...Dean, I need the credit. It’s a requirement to get my degree.”

It was clear Dean still didn’t see the problem, but he shrugged and nodded anyway. “Okay. So...what are you going to do?”

“I’m...It’s a…” He sighed. “Don’t laugh.”

“Why would I laugh?”

“Look, it fulfills a general education requirement. You have to have two art courses. I took art history for the first one. Easy enough. I didn’t have to actually create anything. And now…”

“Sammy?”

“It’s a photography course.”

Dean narrowed his gaze in confusion. “Excuse me? Did...did my genius little emo brother just tell me he’s flunking selfie class?”

His temper flared again, just as the heat filled his cheeks. “It’s not a-It’s not...You’re such a jerk. This is why I don’t tell you things.”

“No. This is why you tell me not to laugh at things you do tell me. What the hell is so hard about photography? Go out and take some stupid pictures!”

Frustration sat heavy in his stomach. “It’s not that simple, man!”

“Pretty sure it is.”

“The professor says…” Sam clenched his jaw and forced the words out. “She says I’ve got no soul.”

Dean's mouth snapped closed, and he raised an eyebrow. “She said what?”

“You heard me.”

“Who is this bitch?”

Sam sighed. “No, Dean, stop. She's right.”

“You don't say shit like that to students! I mean, I once had a high school math teacher tell me I was an asshole. But that was because I was an asshole. What the hell does that mean, you've got no soul? Who says shit like-”

“I said she's right!”

Dean stared. “How can you say that?”

He chewed on his lip as he considered his words. Finally, he shrugged. “It's always been like this. I don't get art. I don't like it. I don't understand it. And I chose photography because I thought we'd be learning about cameras and stuff. I mean, we did. We are. But we also have to do this portfolio, and she says everything I do is soulless. She says she's not going to pass me just for memorizing lens sizes and going through the motions. She says...she says she teaches art, not camera mechanics.”

“So drop the course!”

Sam shook his head. “It's too late, and anyway, I still need the credit! And what am I going to take? Sculpting? I want to throw up just thinking about having to actually make something like that, or draw, or do anything musical. My senior year is going to be too busy. I've got to do this now.”

“What about theatre? You did that show in high school.”

“ _Our Town_?”

“Yeah. You were good. It was cute.”

“Dude, I ran tech. And that's not an intro course here. I tried to get them to accept a theatre history course, but…” He sighed in frustration. “But they want us to have to actually produce art. I'm pre-law, man! All I need to know about art is royalty rights!”

Dean gave him an odd expression, stuck somewhere between amusement and concern. “I didn't know there was any kind of class you weren't confident about. Like, arrogantly confident.”

“I'm not talking to you about anything anymore.”

“No, I…” Dean chuckled softly, and started again. “Sammy, I'm just saying...it sucks finding out there's a thing you're not naturally gifted at. It probably sucks more for you, since you usually are. You're used to hard work, but let's be honest. You ain't used to struggling. You probably don't even know how.”

Sam scowled down at his hands. “This what math feels like to you?”

He snorted. “And English, and science, and everything else. Yeah. Not as funny when you're on the other side of it, is it? You can't muscle your way through some stuff. I remember being so stubborn, and so determined not to look stupid that I pretended to be off with a girl before my chemistry final, and holed up in the car to study my ass off. And when I got my C, I was so relieved, and kind of proud, and then Dad was pissed because I did so bad, and the teacher accused me of cheating because I did so well. That was the last time I bothered.”

Sam cringed. “That sucks, man.”

“Point is, some things you can just put all your muscle into and you just can't make it happen. But you still gotta put all your muscle into it anyway, you know? Not because other folks want you to, or even because it'll change anything long-term. Because you'll remember the times you did, and you'll hate the times you didn't.”

He sighed heavily. “Thanks, man. That's...Yeah. Thanks.” It was amazing the way Dean still managed to surprise him. After all this time, he was still the one who could get through when nothing else could.

“So what are you going to do?” Dean asked again.

“I called a guy. I feel like such an idiot. I mean, he's this genius in the department. I don't even know what I was thinking. How do you even tutor somebody in art anyway? How do you teach somebody to have a soul? Anyway, he hasn't called back. Probably because I was an idiot in the message.” He felt his face and throat heating again. “God, I was an idiot.”

Dean smiled at him with fond sympathy. “Let me guess. He's good looking.”

Sam winced. “He's...Maybe a little.”

“You are such a mess.”

“I know.”

“I don't get it. You're so freaking awkward around anyone you think is remotely attractive.”

Sam sighed. Perhaps when his confidence wasn't flagging quite so badly, he might be inclined to argue. But now, he simply sat back. “I'm a mess.”

“That's what I said.”

“It doesn't matter.” He lifted his phone to show Dean, then tossed it onto the bed. “He never called back.”

Dean picked it up and looked into it. “He texted.”

Sam snatched the phone back. “What?”

“Unless you've got another guy listed in your phone as Gorgeous Photography Tutor.”

“Oh, shit!” Sam's hands fumbled the phone. “Shit, this was two hours ago! He said he could meet me tonight! Shit!” He launched himself at Dean’s jacket. “I gotta go!”

“Check your texts more often.”

“I expected a call! I didn't-” Sam flew from the room.

Dean waited.

“Shit,” Sam hissed again as he returned to the room and threw the jacket down again.

“What's the matter, Ginormo?” Dean smirked.

“Freaking…” The younger man tore through his closet for a jacket his size. “Don't...don't touch my stuff.”

“Totally.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, then he sighed and raced out of the room with a notebook and keys.

Dean watched him go. He shook his head and picked up his book to continue.


	3. Represented by The King of Contracts

Castiel watched through his lens thoughtfully. It was his Canon 5D Mark III, a bit small for his long fingers, but a fantastic camera for field work. It was one of the few things Castiel splurged on. He was prudent with his money, always had been, but when the third edition of the 5D had arrived, he had grabbed it up the first day without a care for the expense. It wasn't the worst way to spend his money. Balt had run through his by blowing coke and guzzling champagne from the navel of every starlet he could charm. A few thousand for a great camera was a career investment, not a ticket to rehab. Castiel liked to compare his own minor eccentricities to those of former castmates, because he always looked like the sensible one in comparison. 

So he had an exquisite view of Sam Winchester through a sophisticated lens as he approached the cafe. He snapped a few pictures of the man hurrying through traffic with a stunning grace and intelligent, watchful eyes that scanned the scene around him. The Mark III was a faster shutter than the Mark II. It had captured just the right image in motion countless times for him. Not that there was probably any such thing as a wrong image of Sam Winchester. 

The young man made it through the light rain and stepped under the overhang at the cafe. Castiel smiled, and continued to let his camera capture Sam shaking his head and coat like a great golden retriever. He stopped only when Sam took notice of him under the table’s umbrella. 

“Oh,” he murmured. “You're outside.”

Castiel shrugged. “We can go in if you'd rather.”

“Uh...uh, no. This is fine. I like sitting outside. More legroom usually. I just never knew anyone else who didn't mind sitting outside a restaurant when it was raining.” Sam reached for a chair, and pulled off his jacket to place it on the chair’s back. Then he sat, stretching long legs in front of him. 

“We won't get wet. There's the overhang and the umbrella, and no real wind to speak of.”

Sam nodded. “Sure. No problem. So...I guess I'm late. I'm really sorry. I didn't get the text till just a while ago. I feel bad asking for your help, then making you wait.”

Something Gabriel's character had said once popped into his brain suddenly. “Nobody makes us do anything,” he muttered. 

A pink flush crossed Sam's cheeks. “No, I...Yeah. Anyway, sorry.”

Castiel smiled at him. “It's okay. It's a line. Don't know why I thought of it. So you're struggling in Dr. Blake’s class.”

“Yeah. I mean, she's great. I like her. But she…” He huffed sadly. “She doesn't care for me, I guess.”

It made him laugh, especially to see how gloomy the young man was about it. “Dr. Blake doesn't give an inch, does she? You would probably do better with one of the others.”

“It's too late for that now. I need this class. I'm...I'm pre-law, and senior year is going to be a bitch, and…” Worried hazel-gray eyes looked at him hopefully. “And I guess you're kind of my Hail Mary.”

He sat back. Something was nagging at him about this guy. “Okay. I can help you.”

Sam nodded quickly. “I can pay you! Obviously.”

Castiel shrugged. “It's no big deal. Just don't let anyone else know I'm doing it. I don't want a mess of kids calling me. And do not give out my number.”

Large hands went up in promise. “I wouldn't. I won't.”

The older student snorted at the enthusiasm. “So? You must have questions. You did more research than a lot of them do, if you found me in the photography studio. I hope that's not why you took the class to begin with. That's just creepy.”

There was confusion written across Sam's handsome face now. “I needed the credit,” he said slowly. “I suck at art of all kinds, apparently. I thought I could fake this, but evidently there's more to photography than I realized. But that's why I took the class, because I thought it would be something I could do. And I suck. And I had seen you in the studio. So I thought…”

It was making him tired. He shook his head. “Whatever. It doesn't matter. You really do need some help?”

Sam blinked at him several times, then he spoke again. “I guess I haven't been real clear. I'm flunking photography with Dr. Blake. And you're always working on some amazing stuff in the studio, and everyone says you're the best. Even Dr. Blake says you're the best. So I thought you could help me figure out why I can't seem to create a portfolio that doesn't make Dr. Blake roll her eyes and shake her head at me.”

A slow smile crept across Castiel’s face. “Wait.” He leaned on the table to look Sam in the eyes. “Wait, hold on. You...you really know me because of my photography?”

The junior’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean? Have we met outside the studio? I've seen you around, but I don't remember us actually talking before. You take photos at some of the LGBT events.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah, I do.”

“Other than that...I don't think I know you outside of the photography studio, do I?”

“No!” Castiel answered too quickly. “No. There's no other reason you should know me.” He chuckled. “That's great, actually. I would love to help you.”

Relief splashed across Sam's face, and he appeared to relax. “Good. Thank you. Dr. Blake says I'm soulless. I'm starting to think maybe I'm just hopeless.”

“No one is soulless,” he laughed. “And you're not hopeless. Let's see what you can do. Here. Take this, and pick anything. Aim and shoot. Let's see your instincts.”

Sam gingerly reached for the camera. To Castiel's amusement, it looked as though the man were intimidated. 

“It doesn't bite.”

“No, but it'll break,” he pointed out. He held the camera awkwardly in his large hands. “And I'm pretty sure it's judging me.”

Castiel laughed happily. “It is not.”

“It looks expensive.”

“Just aim and shoot.”

Sam sighed in frustration. “Shoot what? What is there to take a picture of?”

It probably shouldn't have delighted Castiel how incredibly clueless this man was. But something about it was completely endearing. “Wow. Okay. Look over there. See that bit of grass trying to push through the pavement?”

“Yeah,” Sam muttered doubtfully. “I guess.”

“What do you think of when you see that?”

He took a breath and blew it out nervously. “I don't know. I guess it's a weed. It makes me wonder whose job it is to maintain that lot.”

“Wow,” Castiel said again. 

Sam groaned and closed his eyes. “You keep saying that, and it sounds exactly the same as when the professor sighs at me.”

The photographer laughed. “I'm sorry,” he chuckled. “I really am. I'd make a horrible teacher. Let's try again. Look over there. At the couple talking. What do you see going on between them?”

The large man turned and shrugged helplessly. “They're having dinner.”

“More.”

Instead of the couple, Castiel was watching Sam's eyes narrow in concentration. He was truly trying. “Okay. Um…” He was frowning deeply. 

“Look at their hands,” Castiel prompted gently. 

The eyes brightened. “Oh. She's tapping her fingers. Either impatient or bored or…And he's sort of reaching for her, but not touching her.”

“Why?”

Sam looked back at him. “Why?” he repeated. 

“Why? Why doesn't he touch her?”

“She doesn't want him to.”

Castiel smiled. “How do you know?”

He took a deep breath. “I don't...I don't know.”

He nodded. “Okay. Then how does he know?”

He watched Sam lick his lips. It was an incredibly sensual movement. “She's...she's kind of turned her body away from him. They're facing one another, but she's...she's ready to leave.”

“Look at her through the camera. Not her face. Their hands.”

Sam lifted the Canon again and peered through it briefly, then set it down. “Oh.”

Castiel gestured for him to continue. 

“He's wearing a ring. She isn't.”

“And there are lots of reasons that could account for that. There's a story there. We can't know the story, certainly not the whole story. But a photograph preserves a moment. It catches a bit of the universe during its story, and it puts it out there for us to interpret it. It isn't the beginning of the story, or the end. But the universe is made of stories, not of atoms.”

Sam blinked at him, and licked those lovely lips again. “That's a, uh...That's the activist, Rukeyser.”

Castiel laughed and took his camera back. “That's the poet Muriel,” he corrected. 

He shook his head. “Muriel Rukeyser. Right.”

“And I think that's where we diverge, Sam,” he said softly. “You think of her as a political activist, and you call her by her last name. I think of her as an artist, and I call her by her first.”

“I don't understand the difference.”

Castiel felt his hand move to touch Sam's arm. “Are you Sam, the human, or are you Winchester, the student?”

Sam looked down at the hand. “I'm...I'm Sam, the student,” he blurted out in confusion. 

This produced a delighted laugh from the older man, and he withdrew his hand. “Fair enough.”

The intelligent spark in those hazel-gray eyes lit now, and Sam shook his head. “Are you suggesting...You can't possibly consider their chosen art form to be a more defining characteristic of a person than political views.”

Castiel loved this man. He didn't know what it was, but something about him just fascinated him. “And why not?” he challenged. 

While Sam was yet sputtering, a waitress approached them to take their order. Sam put his finger up to Castiel, and whirled on the poor young woman. “Ma’am? Can I ask you a question?”

She nodded, glancing sidelong at Castiel. “Of course-”

“Do you draw or write or sing or anything? Do you do any kind of art?”

Castiel smirked as the woman stared at him. “Uh...yeah. I sketch sometimes. No big deal or anything, but…”

“And what do you sketch?”

“I draw animals, mostly. And flowers and stuff. Nature. You know.” She began to blush. “Angels sometimes?”

Castiel sighed.

“Are you a particularly religious or political person?”

Her eyes widened, and she glanced at Castiel. “I-I don't…”

“It's an easy question, isn't it? At least as easy as the question about art?”

She took a step backward, and shook her head. “No, I don't think it is.”

Sam sat back in satisfaction. “Because the art question was simple. The other question is more complex. More private, more defining of who you are.”

Castiel smiled at her. “Don't mind him. He thinks he's winning an argument, which would make him feel better about having no natural artistic talent. I'll have a black coffee and one of the peanut butter and jelly donuts.”

“I am winning the argument,” Sam insisted. “I'm...Did you just order a peanut butter and jelly donut?”

The waitress was giggling breathlessly. “Would you like one too, sir? They're good. Really good. If you want to know my religious affiliation, it's probably got something to do with that donut. It's very spiritual.”

Sam shook his head. “No. No, I just want-Please bring a salad, a Caesar salad. And a bottle of water.”

She shrugged. “Your loss.” Then she turned back to Castiel to smile shyly. “I love knowing that you like that donut too! I'm trying not to...We drew straws in the back to see who got to serve you. Like, literal drinking straws. I didn't win, but I almost cried, so the guy who won let me do it. Anyway, I just...I just wanted to tell you how awesome you are. I'll, um, I'll get your order.” 

Sam watched her go, then turned to stare at Castiel, who lowered his eyes. “I...I didn't realize...I knew you had gotten a bunch of stuff published, but I didn't realize you were so recognizable. I mean, you're basically the golden boy of the department, but...She knew who you were?”

It was Castiel's turn to flush pink around the ears. “Like you said, I've been at a few events, and gotten a few of my photos in some publications.”

Sam shook his head. “But they actually drew straws to see who could wait on our table? I guess I didn't know photographers got that much attention.”

Castiel was still formulating his communication strategy when his phone buzzed on the table. He looked at the name and sighed. “I should...I think I'd like to get this. If you don't mind.”

He shrugged, and stood. “I want to wash my hands anyway.” 

After Sam had disappeared, Castiel answered his phone. “What do you want?” he groaned. 

“Castiel, is that any way to answer a call from your biggest fan?”

He ground his teeth, then spoke through them. “Hello, Crowley,” he snarled. “What do you want?”

The laugh was as fake as the rest of his agent. “I've missed you, buddy boy! We're on board with this reunion, are we? Gabriel called me-”

“Yeah. Yeah, I said okay. Look, I'm busy. I'll show up, but I don't really want to do more than that. No promos, no-”

“You have to do promos.”

He frowned and sat up straighter. “I don't want to.”

“I guess we don't make decisions based on what we want to do, do we? It's called being an adult, Castiel.”

Blue eyes narrowed to glare out at the gray rain. “I despise working with you, Crowley.”

“And yet you need me. Isn't that a kick in the ass? See, I know you, kiddo. You can tell all the others you're done for good, but I know the truth. You just can't leave completely. You'd have done it by now. You're still wondering if you could have it all, if you could be the new God and make them all bow down. I know you. You were never a whore like Raphael and Michael, like Lucien or any of the others. You were an artist. And you know you were a good one. It wasn't about the money and cameras for you. But you want the glory. The recognition of your craftsmanship.”

Castiel swallowed hard. “That's not…”

“Say the word, Cas, and you can finally show them that you're more than what they let you be back then. Your photography will always be there. You can do that too. It'll make you better, in fact. Just let me feed you the right script, Castiel. Nothing gaudy or tasteless. Nothing too abstract either. In the middle, in the sweet spot, there's your role, the one that will show them all that you're not little Cassie anymore, that you're a performer, a true artist. Make them forget little Cassie. This reunion isn't about you. It's about your purse. The real project is your return as the Phoenix. Smile at the cameras for these promos, Cas, because in the background, I'll be negotiating your glorious resurrection.”

“I hate you.”

Crowley practically purred at him. “You love me,” he corrected. “And I'll take that as a yes. I'll have three scripts to you by courier tomorrow morning, and I'll book your promos around your class schedule. Try to dress decently. You've got what they call sex appeal, and I'd like to show it off.”

“Thank you,” he said dryly. “Listen, Crowley. If anyone tries to push me to quit school before graduation, I'll tear it down. I'll tear it all down. The reunion, scripts, everything. You understand me?”

“Education is dear to my heart as well, Castiel.”

He rolled his eyes and put his head into his palm. “I bet. And I won't work with-”

“I know the long, breathtaking list of people you won't work with, you diva. You should be glad anyone will work with you.”

A smirk crept into his voice. “Yeah. Well, that's your problem, isn't it? You're the one who wants me to work at all.”

“Only because I know what you have to offer the world.”

“You hand me a project that Dick Roman has his slimy hands in, and I'll fire you.”

“Of course not. That was a once-in-a-lifetime sort of mistake.”

“I won't work for that man again. He's everything I hate about the industry. I'm a card-carrier in the guild. I don't have to put up with his bullshit. Dick Roman-”

“That was so four years ago. And after you scrambled that contract, you can bet he isn't looking to work with you again either. If you weren't so damn talented and so popular right now-thank you very much, Netflix and Amazon-no one would put up with your prissiness.”

“I'm professional. I always have been. That's why I don't agree to projects with assholes who aren't.”

Crowley huffed. “There's no such thing as a production that doesn't have its share of assholes!”

“And that's why I've been behind a camera instead of in front of one for years.”

“I'll expect you to read those scripts. I've got other clients I could give them to, you know.”

“Bite me. I'll read them if they interest me. Unlike your other clients, I'm still not sure I want to be in this game anymore. I'm not an actor anymore.”

Crowley's voice quieted now, and it forced him to listen. “You'll always be in the game, Castiel. Every time they think you're dead, you pull yourself from the ash. And the other players will never stop watching over their shoulders for you. Photographer, student, damn librarian for all I care. You're an actor, and you know it.”

Castiel sighed as he hung up. He was going to hear that dreadful voice with its wicked accent in his sleep. 

The voice behind him was far more pleasant, but the words made him cringe. “You're an actor?”

He dropped his head back into his palm.


	4. Directed by Speight the Great

It wasn't that Sam had never heard of _Angels Among Us_. He wasn't completely oblivious. But the way his father had moved them around from one town to another, always just two steps ahead of local law enforcement, Sam’s education in popular culture had been spotty at best. He had kept up with _Thundercats_. Dean had watched _Transformers_ , and Sam had caught him watching some medical drama a few times as they got older. Uncle Bobby had watched _Beverly Hills 90210_ , which Sam always thought was weird, and the older man and Dean had spent a summer obsessed with some telenovela that time Dean had broken his leg. Beyond that, there were movies on motel channels.

 _Angels Among Us_ had barely pinged his radar.

Dean was shaking his head. “Little dude is good!”

Sam was staring at the screen. “I just don't get it,” he mumbled.

His brother was always there to help. “See, the baby angel isn't actually a baby at all. When they came to earth, they needed vessels, and the kid who died in the first scene, one of the angels took his body as his-”

“I get the plot, dude! I'm not a moron! I'm talking about Cas! He really, really didn't want me to know about this.”

Dean shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe he's embarrassed. He does have a nineties haircut there.”

Sam watched the screen in silence for another few minutes.

“Is that the guy from _The Originals_?” Dean wondered.

“I don't know what that is.”

“I like Gabriel’s style.”

“Gabriel is the actor’s name.”

“Oh. The Trickster, whatever his name is. I like him.”

Sam narrowed his gaze at his brother. “I don't think you're supposed to like him. He threw a guy into a black hole just because he was arrogant. I don't think he's a good guy.”

“He also makes pie and women appear out of thin air. I don't think he's a bad guy.”

Sam shrugged.

“The girl angel is hot.”

“The redhead?”

“Oh yeah.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I kind of think the demon girl is pretty.”

Dean shoved a handful of cookies into his mouth. “You're gay. You don't get an opinion.”

This earned him a glare.

“So? He said yeah, you caught me, I'm a child star, see you later?”

“Kind of. I mean, he said he would be happy to help me with my portfolio, but since next week is Spring Break, he didn't think we needed to do everything right now, and he paid for the food and left before it was even delivered. Said he would text me.”

Dean continued to stare at the screen. “Huh. Somebody's sensitive about his four year old hair.”

“I think he's five there.”

“I looked it up. He doesn't turn five till the third show in the first season.”

“Cas or his character?”

Green eyes rolled. “You know, if you'd shut up, you might be able to follow. His character is older than humanity.”

Sam frowned at the drama unfolding on the screen. “That's a lot to ask of a kid, isn't it? I mean…” He took a deep breath. “Dean, how old were you when Mom died? I was, what? Six months?”

“Yeah,” he responded, keeping his eyes deliberately locked onto the screen. “I was four.”

“So, same as Cas here.”

“Apparently.”

Sam shook his head. “What was I doing when I was four?”

Dean huffed a small laugh. “You were annoying me, just like you are now.”

“Really.”

At last, Dean paused the show and set the remote aside. “You were in kindergarten, Sammy. You were learning to hit a baseball off a tee. You were learning to pack a bag. You were learning to read better than I ever did. And you were learning you had to get all your books from the library because we weren’t going to spend money on them, and because you couldn't fit them in your bag when we had to jet out of town. You hated that. Leaving your books behind. I had to steal them from you while you slept, and return them myself. And you wouldn't sleep alone for the first night in any town. You said you wanted to be sure the monsters in every new place knew I was there to protect you before you tried sleeping on the couch alone. Four was the year you tried to hide under the bed so you didn't have to go when Dad said it was time to skip town again. I had to coax you out. Cas was busy as a four year old; so was I. But you were too.”

Sam lowered his eyes. “I don’t remember stuff like that.”

Dean shrugged. “You remember a lot of stuff I don’t.”

“Why do you remember me hiding my library books and trying to keep Dad from dragging me to a new town?”

The older man heaved a sigh. “Because it broke my heart, Sammy,” he groaned. “Now shut up. Your boyfriend is about to smite a demon.” He turned the show back on and refused to look away from it again.

It took Sam far too long to realize that Dean had referred to Castiel as his boyfriend, and by the time he did, it would have produced more ridicule to deny it than to let it go.

The show was good. Sam could see why it was still popular all these years later. There was a clear theme, an exploration of what made someone good and what made someone evil, who was the monster and who was the good guy. The angels were definitely not always the good guys. In fact-

“They’re flying douchebags!” Dean exclaimed after the second show. “The one that runs the family? He’s messed up!”

“I’m pretty sure he’s supposed to be God.”

Dean frowned. “You weren’t paying attention. God skipped town. This asshole just thinks he’s God. And his brother!”

“Dude, he’s the Devil. What did you expect?”

“No excuse to be such a bastard to the baby angel.”

“You said yourself he’s not a baby angel.”

The television went blank, and Dean tossed the remote onto the bed. “He’s awesome. Dude, you should totally go sleep with Baby Angel.”

“The character had a name-Wait, what?”

Dean shook his head. “Yeah. His name was Misha. What the hell kind of name is-”

Sam was staring at him from his desk chair.

“What?” Dean wondered, suddenly self-conscious. “What’d I do?”

“Go sleep with the baby angel? Did you just say that?”

This was one of those times that Dean had to think back to remember what he had said, because he hadn’t been paying attention to his own thoughts falling from his mouth. He squinted up at the ceiling, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I said that.”

Sam shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible, you know that? Remember your first trip to California, when you toured those studios, and you ended up sleeping with the star of _The Reckoning_? Or what about the time Dad took us to that wrestling thing when you were seventeen or something, and you tried to bag Rio?”

A slow, cocky smile appeared on his brother’s face. “Good times. Mmm. Rio.”

“You also kind of stalked the girl we met in New York, who played the waitress in that B monster movie. What was it?”

“ _Oktoberfest_. And she was a bar wench.”

“You’re sick. You’ve got a sickness.”

Dean shrugged him off, and stood. “I don’t apologize for being a fanboy. None of them complained.”

Sam had to concede that point.

“Besides, I’m not the one who spent the last two hours looking up Castiel Wunderkind while I watched the show on Netflix, which you subscribed to just so you could find his show.”

“His name is Castiel Fenice, and it’s not...I’m just curious…”

Dean smirked at him. “If you were curious, you’d check out the show. Instead, you’re looking at his most recent headshots and paparazzi photos. You think he’s hot.”

Heat filled Sam’s face, and he shut his laptop quickly. He didn’t want to look at his brother’s satisfied sneer. “Shut up. I’m...I’m going out.”

“To call him?”

“Shut up!” he shouted over his shoulder, and he slammed the door behind him.

He could hear the theme music beginning again, and he knew Dean was planning to binge the entire first season. Whatever. It was better than a lot of things Dean could get himself up to without supervision.


	5. Dailies by McG

Why was he making such a big deal out of this? So Sam knew about his acting career? So did everyone else! What made this guy any different?

“For one thing, he's very pretty,” Hannah pointed out.

Castiel groaned into the phone. “You're looking him up?”

“Of course I'm looking him up, Castiel. He could be a psycho. You attract a lot of those.”

“No more than anyone else,” he protested defensively.

“No, there's something about you that brings out the most creative freaks.”

Castiel sighed. “So glad I called.”

“Castiel, you haven't called since Christmas. This man is clearly under your skin. So why not pursue a relationship with him? You like him. It's what you want.”

He scowled. “Too bad we don't make decisions based on what we want to do. It's called being an adult.”

“No. That's called sulking. What did you expect, Castiel? You were just going to build a friendship with this man and yet tell him nothing of what you've been in the past? Is that what you think friendship is built on?”

Castiel stepped out into his balcony and looked up at the sky. “Hannah? Why do you call me Castiel? The others, everyone who knows me from back then, they all call me Cassie.”

“You were never Cassie to me.”

He smiled softly. “But why?”

His oldest friend paused for a moment, then took a breath. “You introduced yourself to me. I know you don't remember. But when I joined the cast in the third season, there was already so much drama among the cast members, and even some of the crew...But you knew I was prepping my first scene, that they had planned for me to be a recurring guest star. And not a single other person bothered to say hello, not beyond what they had to anyway. Even the fans were speculating that the new female character was going to ruin everything, and we hadn't even shot a scene yet. I felt like the albatross.”

Castiel cringed. “I'm so sorry. That opener was tense. We were all certain we would be cancelled by mid-season. It felt like any wrong move would be the death of the whole production.”

She hummed in agreement. “No project I've worked on since had such a deafening level of pressure.”

That was certainly saying a lot. Hannah had enjoyed a more active career than most. “I'm sorry,” he said again.

“But you, sweet Castiel, you came to me right away, as soon as you got to set that day, and you walked right up to shake my hand. You were probably about to turn seven or eight, but you were the most grown up member of the whole cast. Still are.”

He laughed quietly, and stared up into the heavens.

“I smiled at you, and you started to speak, and your handler came rushing over as though he thought I might kidnap you.”

“They were always overprotective, Hannah. I hope you didn't take that personally.”

“No, but you did. He hurried to introduce you like you couldn't speak for yourself. And he called you Cassie Fenice. You just looked at him with that blistering glare of yours, the one you used on camera for smiting demons, and then you turned back to me like he'd never even spoken, and you said…”

“My name is Castiel. I'm familiar with your work, and I'm glad you're joining us. If you need anything, let me know.”

A surprised laugh poured from her lips. “You do remember!”

“Hannah, I was entirely in love with you by then. The greatest achievement of my acting career was not pissing myself when you touched my hand. I practiced saying that to you for a week when I heard you were joining the cast.”

Hannah burst into uncharacteristic giggles. “You're full of shit!”

“No,” he sighed. “I was a wreck for our first scene together. I've never been able to go back and watch it, because I remember how completely in awe of you I was. I had to say my lines while you touched my cheek.”

“What was the scene?”

“Carroll Majdoub was introduced as the warrior angel who came to seek revelation from Misha.”

“That's right! Because Misha had been her mentor for eons. And then she sees this little boy, and she recognized him as Misha, but…”

“But she couldn't see him as the same angel in that little vessel, not until she saw him during their first fight together.”

Hannah sobered then. “You know, that's kind of where we are now. You were always my tiny mentor, Castiel, regardless of the fact that I was ten years older. You were my sage. And now, I hear your voice, and how deep it is, and I see photos of you whenever someone catches you off campus, and it's so hard to think of you as my old little friend. It's like you've taken this new vessel, and I don't recognize you anymore.”

He tried to laugh, but it choked a bit in his throat. He ran his hands along the smooth railing idly. “Hannah, I'm not Cassie anymore.”

“You were never Cassie,” she corrected. “You were always Castiel. It's just that no one let you be that. And now they've pushed you so far that you don't want to even be Castiel anymore. You played Misha, and you did some guest roles for a while, some really excellent work, and you did voice roles for a long time, but it didn't matter how good you were, because no matter what you did, no one believed it was you. Castiel, you worked harder than any of us. You gave sixteen hours a day when you could have gotten away with four, and you gave your whole heart to every scene, when some days you could have just phoned it in. Most adults couldn't pull off the work ethic you had, Castiel. And they all called you adorable.”

It was like being slapped across the face. He flinched, and felt the burn of tears behind his eyes. “God, Hannah,” he said hoarsely. “That's it exactly.”

She continued with a softer tone. “And now you're afraid that everything Castiel does now is colored by Cassie. You aren't one of those child stars who wishes he'd had a normal childhood. You aren't one who is desperate to get back to his former place in front of the cameras. You were never a child star at all. You were an actor, a professional, the best among us. And now you wonder if anyone has ever seen your true value as an artist, or if they ever will. I've seen your photography, Castiel, and it's good. But you'll always wonder if it's Castiel they like, or if they just remember cute Cassie. And that's why you won't give this man a chance at becoming a friend, now that he knows about Cassie. Because you're afraid Castiel will get buried underneath again.”

Tears streamed down his cheeks mercilessly. He gripped the railing and phone hard. “I know how stupid this is. Gabe called me an entitled, spoiled brat or something yesterday. My agent called me a diva. I just hate wondering if someone likes what I really am or if I'm just some kind of zoo creature for them to stare at. It doesn't seem to matter what I do or how hard I work. I can never be sure if anyone actually...actually has any respect for anything I am at all. And it's been years. Hannah, I don't want to live like this my whole life. I'm grateful for every chance I was given back then, but I think I earned my way.”

“You did,” she confirmed. “You did, Castiel. I've worked with some of the highest grossing actors in the field, and some of the most pretentious. You're no diva. You're just trying to figure out who you want to be, and when you do, you want people to respect the way you put your whole heart into being the best at it. Maybe you'll choose photography, or teaching, or writing, or maybe you'll come back home to my world. Whatever you do, you're going to give it everything you are, and you don't want to always doubt that those you befriend and create professional relationships with are sincere. I understand.”

“Hannah, I miss you.”

“I miss you too. And for what it's worth, I know just how brilliant, and talented, and tireless you are.”

He laughed, but it sounded more like a croak. “Do you also know I'm still a little bit in love with you?”

Hannah chuckled. “I'm not as pretty as this Winchester kid,” she teased. “And he is the one who needs you to save his soul.”

Castiel wiped away his tears, and began to smile.


	6. In Collaboration with Idgit Studios

Sam returned to their original meeting place. The cafe was closed. He sat at the table outside, where he had been before. This time, he had brought his camera.

The drizzle was still coming down. It made everything in the street lamp’s domain gray. But there it was, persevering in spite of it all. Sam licked his lips, stood and then knelt on the wet ground, sat back on his heels, and focused his camera lens on the bit of grass in the pavement. There was something there that Castiel had seen. Sam would figure it out too.

He had no idea how long he had been photographing and staring at the crack in the blacktop before the voice startled him.

“There's symbolism there. Don't you think?”

Sam began to smile, but he did not look away from his target. “I get that. I get the idea that the grass is pushing its way through where it shouldn't be able to. It's thriving in spite of impossible odds.”

There came a hand on his arm, and it sent a wave of heat through him in the chill air. “It's more, though, isn't it? Is it really thriving?”

Dark hazel eyes narrowed in concentration. He was determined to solve the puzzle, even as part of his brain was busy listening to the deep, quiet voice and reacting with pleasure to the warm hand on his arm. “I mean, it sort of is. It's surviving, and that's more than anyone would expect of it.”

“It's not just pushing through against all odds, Sam. Look at it. It's pushed through, and now it's trapped in a cage of its own making.”

“So...you think it worked so hard for nothing?” He lowered his camera now and looked at the man behind him.

Castiel was gorgeous in this light. His intense blue eyes were staring down at the grass as if it were telling a story. “I don't think it worked hard for nothing. I think it worked hard for the wrong thing. It tried so hard to push beyond where it was, but I don't think it's any happier like that.” He looked up. “Do you?”

Sam suspected this was a test of some sort. He considered for a long time before speaking again. “I think,” he said finally, “that maybe it worked hard to accomplish the wrong thing, but you can't just discount the effort and courage it took to try to change its circumstances.” He smiled ruefully and stood off his sore knees to look down at his new friend. “My brother is getting out of a bad situation right now, and he's worked damn hard at it. He may not have really gotten anywhere good, but he didn't stay somewhere bad just because he was afraid of the effort it would take to rise above it. I think the effort itself is worth something. He may never be better than trapped where he is now, but he pushed through some pretty difficult stuff to get where he is. And I think that's worthy by itself.”

Castiel's eyes locked onto Sam’s. “And they thought you had no soul. Turns out you just needed a different angle. You have a beautiful soul, Sam.”

The praise and those dark eyes shining blue in the lamplight worked together to make Sam dizzy with pleasure. He could feel his whole body wanting to step forward and close the small gap between them. Sam had never been struck by a man this way before. There was a magnetism that tried to pull him in, that wanted them to slot together and test their fit. Sam resisted the temptation, but could not help looking down at Castiel's lips and licking his own in hunger.

That was all it took. Sam didn't need to close the gap, because Castiel was on him, grasping his face gently but firmly with both hands, and guiding Sam’s want to his own lips.

Sam's eyes rolled closed.

The kiss was unlike anything Sam had ever experienced before. Sam loved kissing, and had partaken of it at every opportunity in his life. There was something so exciting and passionate in a kiss that just melted his mind. Andy and Lily had gotten him to try weed a while back, but it had just made him foggy. It was nothing compared to this, to the way his mind startled at the sensation, then settled in happily to enjoy the show. Sam had always loved kissing. But Castiel's kiss was on a whole new level.

When it was obvious Sam wasn't going to back away, Castiel smiled against Sam's lips, and pushed himself further against the larger man. Sam got the impression that Castiel wished there was a wall at Sam's back so he could crush him against it, and the thought did amazing things to his body’s already enthusiastic reaction to the kiss.

If he hadn't been convinced that Castiel was an amazing artist before, this would have clinched it. With the most subtle of movements, Castiel was tearing down every wall between them. His tongue was not invasive the way some lovers’ were, not shoving. Instead, it was gentle and sweet, reaching just inside Sam's lips, so softly that Sam was left whimpering with want for more. Every tiny sound he made was met with a smile against his lips, and it made Sam want to vocalize more. Sam had never been noisy in the past, but the way Castiel kept grinning into their kiss shot warmth and sharp desire through Sam's spine, and to his groin. He pushed back against Castiel's body now, to relieve the building pressure, and he heard Castiel’s deep groan in approval. The sound reverberated through Sam's whole body.

At last, Castiel pulled himself back, pecking at Sam's lips twice more as he separated them, like little apologies for their departure. Sam leaned forward involuntarily, and gave a sad sigh that sounded too much like a whine.

When he opened his eyes, the man was smiling at him, and touching his own lips thoughtfully. Sam watched the man’s mouth with growing lust, and waited.

“Sam? I want you.”

The words made his whole body shiver, and his eyes fluttered in a rapid blink before focusing again on the handsome man.

“I know this isn't why you contacted me. And I really am happy to help you with your portfolio to get your grade up for Dr. Blake.”

Sam's brain stuttered over this momentarily. His thoughts had been so far from Dr. Blake and his grades that he had to yank them back. “Oh,” he mumbled. “Yeah. Thank you. It's...Yeah.”

Castiel was smirking at him now. “Yeah,” he repeated in a teasing tone. “But it's late. We could work on that tomorrow, couldn't we?”

He sighed with relief. “Yeah,” he said again.

The man’s head tilted slightly. “You're a lot less eloquent after you've been kissed, aren't you?”

A flush of heat on his face and throat proved there was still some blood above his belt. “When I've been kissed like that? Hell yes!”

The laugh echoed back at them off the brick of the cafe. “Don't be defensive,” Castiel whispered, and he slotted them together again, pulling his hand through Sam's hair. “You can be brilliant any other time. Right now, I think you're gorgeous, and I want to take you up to my room to continue this conversation. No eloquence required.”

Sam's heart was pounding against Castiel's chest. “Is that...That's okay?”

The smirk was back, though a bit sour now. Castiel leaned away to look up in his eyes. “I'm not obligated to ask anyone's permission. Are you?”

“No!” He shook his head. “No. Of course not.” A thought skittered across his mind that perhaps he should text Dean just to let him know he may not be back till morning, but he chose not to bring that up. “I just mean...We’re talking about sex, right?”

The blue eyes softened, and Castiel reached up to kiss him with a tenderness that made Sam sigh. “Yes, Sam. I noticed you a very long time ago, and I've wanted you since. Now that I've had your kiss, I want you more than ever. I didn't think that needed to be spelled out.”

At last, Sam was able to grasp blindly at his senses. He smiled. “Maybe I just like to hear you say it.”

Castiel grinned up at him. “I think I'm going to fall hard for you, Sam,” he warned.

“So fall. We’ll fall together and see what happens.”

The gaze was steady on him, as though Castiel were trying to figure him out.

Sam reached out to touch the man's face gently. “Hey. Don't overthink me. I'm not as complicated as you're afraid I am. I don't have any hidden agenda or symbolism to puzzle through. You're the artist, remember? I'm just Sam the student. And I want to be Sam, your lover, tonight. We can figure out any puzzles tomorrow.”

Castiel watched him another moment, then seemed to make a decision that brought a relieved smile to his face. He grabbed Sam's hand, and pulled to lead him through the rain with a rush of determination and urgency.

Behind them, the grass soaked in the rain, and awaited another artist to wonder about it.


	7. Jackles: One Hell of a PA

There were times Castiel could remember wondering what other boys his age were doing. There were times he wondered if he was an entirely different species from the rest of them. He didn't have much contact with other children. He read his textbooks in his trailer or on set between his scenes, and on his free days, he took his physical education, music and arts classes. For physical education credits, he had his martial arts and dance lessons, which the fight choreographer took advantage of at every opportunity. For music, there was piano. None of these were particularly social activities, and Castiel often took his classes with adults. Even his character was an ancient angel in a child's form.

So he was hardly the best judge of a normal childhood.

Apparently neither was Sam.

“I'm not sure I understand. Why were you able to do that?”

Sam snorted. He lay naked under the blankets, tangled in Castiel's limbs. “Oh. You mean how did I get into the guy’s office.”

“Is that not the part of the story any normal person would wonder about?”

He sighed. “Cas, you know how you have some talents you don't talk about?”

“Point taken. Except that my talents from childhood were less illegal.”

Sam snuggled into him, and it made him smile. “Maybe one day,” he said vaguely, “I'll tell you how my brother got his first B and E borrowing another guy's pay per view to watch Gunner Lawless wrestle. But not now.”

Castiel let it go. Instead, he changed the subject. “I wouldn't have pegged you for a cuddler,” he teased. He wrapped his arms around the large man to make it clear this was not a criticism.

Sam's face heated all the same. “I never really was before,” he admitted. “It's, um, different with you.”

“Why?” the photographer wanted to know.

Now the handsome face burrowed into his shoulder, and Castiel couldn't help the grin on his face.

“Sam? I don't get it,” he laughed. “You're brilliant. You're gorgeous. You're incredibly hot. And you are so confident when I see you at events and around campus. You're at the top of your class. You're a record-holding athlete.”

A muffled voice spoke into his shoulder. “How did you know that?”

It was Castiel's turn to flush a bit, and he was glad Sam was buried. “I told you. I've seen you around, and I've been a fan for a while.”

This produced what could only be called a giggle.

“Anyway, I don't get how you can be...what you are...and still so shy! Especially after some pretty awesome sex,” he added happily.

There was a comfortable silence, during which Sam continued to burrow into him like a warm, overgrown puppy.

Castiel had never been a cuddler either, but he found that he adored the way the man couldn't seem to get close enough. Sam was like a living furnace. He thought of the cool spring rain falling outside, and held his lover tighter, making him sigh.

At last, Sam spoke again. “Cas, have you ever...You probably never...I guess sometimes I think…”

Castiel waited patiently.

“Sometimes I wonder if I'm not a bit of a...a fraud,” Sam murmured below a whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Sam sighed heavily, and emerged from the safety of Castiel's chest. “On paper? I look like I've got it together. Right?”

A slow smile came over Castiel's face. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Sam was talking about.

“But the guy on paper...I think sometimes that's all a con. And I know cons. It's...it's what my family does.” He looked down at Castiel worriedly. “I guess you'll think I'm horrible for this. But it's true. My dad...My dad was the greatest con man who ever lived. Except maybe my big brother.”

“That's the situation he's getting out of,” Castiel remembered.

Sam watched him for his reaction, but Castiel had not forgotten how to mask his surprise. He remained neutral as possible. “Yeah,” he replied. “And I guess I wonder if it just runs in the family. If maybe I'm working the longest con in history, and I'm the victim of it. Convincing myself and everyone around me that I'm something special when I'm really nothing at all.” He made a noise that wasn't quite a laugh. “I've never said that to anybody before. I don't even know why I said it to you.”

Castiel put a hand through Sam's hair, and reached up to kiss his lips gently. “You said it because you know I can understand.”

The hazel eyes pleaded with him. “Can you? I mean…Have you ever listened to someone list your accomplishments, your talents, and you just wonder…”

“Have I got them all fooled?” He smiled fondly at the large man. “Yeah. And the worst part is wondering if everyone who claims to love you would still feel that way if they got to know the real you. If they just have an image in their heads, and you know you're bound to disappoint them, to fall from grace.”

Sam’s sigh sounded entirely familiar. “Yeah,” he breathed. “So you try that much harder to be what they think you already are, and it just makes it worse.”

“Or you hide so there's no chance they'll see you screw up.”

“Is that what you do?”

Castiel shrugged. “Maybe a little.” He huffed a laugh then. “Maybe a lot. Being behind the camera was originally just an excuse to not be in front of it. And I do love photography. But if you peel off a few layers, I miss doing what I used to do, but I'm scared to death to do it again.” He let idle fingers caress Sam's hair as he enjoyed the sweet way the man focused completely on his words. “Now we're even. Because I've never said that to anyone either.”

“So you want to act again?”

“I'm not sure many people would understand this...but maybe you will. I feel like I've been acting these past ten years. Like this Castiel kid is just a character I've been playing. And lately, I've been thinking a lot about whether it's a show I want to renew for another season, or if I want to return to a previous role.”

Sam nodded earnestly. “But you don't know how.”

“Without facing the inevitable disappointment of the masses? No. I was good, Sam. As a kid. But I don't want to go through the crushing feeling that I'm falling short of the expectations of everyone who ever meant anything to me...or worse, everyone I ever meant something to. I still get fan mail, and people write to me to say that something I did or something one of my characters did years ago inspired them in some way. The angel Misha, especially, isn't just a character to some of these people. He got them through some hard times, taught them to fight through the pain, showed them how to rise from a fall. Misha was a strong leader in a child's form, so it spoke to people who felt like they had more to offer than others gave them credit for, people who felt dismissed. If I go back out there and break that spell, I'll be letting down a lot of people who looked up to that fiction. So I'd rather just leave it alone.”

“But if it's what you want…”

“We don't always get to make decisions based on what we want, Sam.”

Sam nodded and lay back down next to him. “Yeah. Yeah, that part I get.”

***

_How much is he worth?_

_I dunno. A lot. Hacked his student accounts. He's got no scholarship, but he's paid in full through graduation. Same with his apartment._

_Doesn't mean he's got anything left._

_Only one way to find out, right?_

_What's his type?_

_Not you._

_I'm everyone's type._

_Nope. He's on my kid brother’s team._

_So you're his type._

_Oh, honey. I'm everybody's type._

_Then work up his profile. What do you need from me?_

Dean opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling, trying to orient himself. The pot he had stolen from Andy had helped him fall asleep, but now he was awake and fuzzy.

His phone was ringing.

He frowned and grabbed at it. “Bela?”

“Yes, Dean?”

He waited, until he realized she was also waiting. “What? Why are you calling?”

She heaved a long-suffering sigh. “You told me to.”

“No. I told you to never call me again. I called you a bitch. I'm ninety percent sure you tried to poison me on my way out.”

“It obviously didn't take,” she complained. “So if you didn't want to talk to me, why did I receive a message saying you've got a perfect new client for us?”

Realization flooded over him. “Oh. Shit.”

“Dean Magnus, are you smoking while drunk again? I swear-”

“No! I mean, yeah, obviously, but I'm not…” He shook his head to clear it, sitting up in the bed. He grabbed his jacket and stumbled out of the room, and then the apartment, while explaining himself. “I'm sorry,” he muttered, though it was nearly painful to say it. “I am. I didn't mean to contact you. I thought the whole conversation was in my head.”

“What conversation? You just texted me to say you've got a client-”

“Well, I don't!” he snapped back. He headed out to his car without feeling the rain at all.

Bela’s voice quieted. “Magnus, if you're cutting me out of a big pull…”

Dean scowled. He fumbled his keys and climbed in. “I told you. I'm out. I'm not running cons anymore. Wouldn't do it with you. Sure as hell ain't gonna do it without you.”

“I want to know the client-”

“There's no-Jesus, Bela! They ain't clients! They're victims! Okay?”

She snorted. “Not the ones we chose. We only chose the ones who needed to be brought down a peg.”

Green eyes rolled. “Oh yeah. Regular Robin fucking Hoods, we were. But yeah. They were all pricks. Matt Murdock wouldn't have wanted to touch some of the sons of bitches we took down. But this guy isn't like that.”

“So there is a guy!” she accused. “I'm tracking you right now!”

“Bullshit!” he cried out. “I wiped my phone! And I'm not in a permanent place anyway!” he added as he peeled out of the parking lot. “Just stopped for some gas in some no name town.”

“You're in Palo Alto. Why?”

“Dammit!” He had forgotten to wipe this phone. He had tossed two, wiped one, and yet had completely forgotten this one. The bitch had his location. “I told you! Stopped for-”

“Right outside Stanford U. You've got a brother in college. Is that where baby Magnus goes to school?” she purred. “Is that the same baby Magnus that convinced you to leave the game? Cost me a lot of money, that kid. I'd like to meet him one day.”

“You stay the hell away from my little brother, you psycho bitch.”

“Now, Dean. That's not polite.”

He sighed. “Bela, he didn't cost you any money. You don't need me to play the game.”

She was smirking. He could hear it. “Oh, but it was so nice having a partner whose daddy had taught him nearly everything before I even found him. We were a beautiful team, Dean. You know we were. It was like Daddy had trained you just for me.”

“If it helps, I think you're a truly awful person. And my dad would have too.”

“I don't know. I think I would have gotten along quite well with your father. If he was as good as you say.”

Dean glared at the road ahead. “He was the best con man there ever was. So good I didn't even know what was real about him.”

“You have anything that's real, Dean?”

He took a breath. “Yeah. My boobs. Don't call again, Bela, no matter what I say when drunk.”

“Your loss, Magnus. Try to keep that beautiful car of yours out of tow away spaces.”

A feral growl sounded from deep in his throat. “Bitch,” he spat as he tossed his phone onto the passenger seat.

Dean spent twenty minutes driving down a dark highway. Then he chose a random exit and let his instincts do what they did best.

It wasn't long before he found what he needed.

He pulled into the dark, loose gravel lot of the only place that would still be open and busy at this time of night. He parked his baby away from the other vehicles, and took a deep breath before climbing out. He hadn't dressed for this on his bolt out of Sam's apartment when he realized Bela was going to try to track his cellphone’s location. But a glance down confirmed that he was in the right mode for the environment. Old jeans over black boots that he had fallen asleep in, a charcoal tee and green shirt over it, and his leather jacket. He knew he looked good.

Dean stepped lightly through the small crowd, into the wave of music and smoke. His brain was sharp now. He listened to his father’s voice in his head, telling him to open up his senses to every detail around him. Every character in the scene opened up to him, by the way they moved, the way they interacted, the way they noticed him or didn't. He knew at a glance what each was drinking, and could guess at how much they’d already had. He could tell who was a regular, and who was just passing through, who was looking for company, and who was avoiding it.

Most importantly, he could tell where the money was.

Bela preferred to hit country clubs, and Dean had to admit those were easy pickings. But places like this were Dean’s goldmine long before he had ever heard the name Bela Talbot, or any of her pseudonyms. He was after the sort of client who thought she was slumming in the sort of place no one would know her name, who wanted an adventure before going back to her wealthy husband. They were the small jobs where the women weren't even sure in the end that it hadn't been worth the loss. He liked those.

He wasn't going to work a job tonight. He had promised Sam he was done. Done with faux business investments and bogus real estate deals, done with affair blackmail and pocketing jewelry on his way out. Done with taking advantage of the self-righteous and the arrogant. He was done with being the man every spiteful housewife and bitter business partner used to screw over someone else, only to find themselves thousands of dollars lighter after he had driven out. His clients were generally too embarrassed or too confused by the whole ordeal to tell a soul. Sometimes, Dean had been gone for weeks before he accessed their accounts, which he had secured during his time befriending them. One man had sat at a bar with Dean every night for two weeks, telling him what he hated about every person he worked with, and without realizing it, he had given Dean everything he needed to get through the security system at an insurance company. Dean had sold that information to a guy who had apparently pulled off some impressive feats of theft and fraud at Roman Enterprises. John had taught him to do things like that himself, but he preferred to sell it to the highest bidder, and move on.

Not tonight, he reminded himself. He ordered a cola, to make it appear as though he were drinking rum or whiskey. The bartender raised an eyebrow, but shrugged at him.

“You're here awful late to just want a soda, brother,” the man murmured. “Unless you came looking for something a little stronger than liquor.”

Dean flashed him a handsome smile. “Or something a little more expensive,” he said in a tease. “Any suggestions?”

The man shrugged again. “Depends. You hustling or whoring?”

He burst into laughter. He had never been called out quite so bluntly, and after just a moment’s exchange. This guy knew his stuff. “Who says it's gotta be one or the other? Maybe I like to hustle the guys and whore for the girls,” he countered.

The guy snorted. “That so?”

He smiled and looked back out at the crowd. “No,” he sighed wistfully. “Gave up that life. How'd you see it?”

“You've been checking watches. I used to do some quick appraisals years back myself. You've been checking watches and earrings, not to mention ring fingers.”

“Ain't as subtle as I thought I was.”

“Or maybe I know one when I see one.”

Dean turned back to look the man over. He was a large guy, with a beard and a pair of sad blue eyes that probably had a story behind them. But he was smiling. “I ain't hustling anybody today. Might play some pool later, but I really am done with all that. I guess I just don't know what to do with myself now that I am.”

The man reached under the bar and placed something in front of Dean. Then he walked away to serve another customer. “Name’s Benny,” he called. “I tend not to worry about no background checks.”

Dean stared down at the employment application and pen. A slow, shocked smile crept up on him. He began to laugh, and picked up the pen to begin.


	8. Padamoose: Best Boy Grip

The portfolio was a labor of love. Sam suddenly knew what he wanted to photograph, and he had moved to shake Castiel awake in the early morning. Before he could do so, he received a serendipitous text from his brother, telling him to call. 

He grinned to himself, a tendril of anxious excitement coming over him as he slipped out of the bedroom to put in the call. 

“Hey, brat.”

Sam laughed. “Good morning! It's way too early for you to be awake. So you must not have slept.”

“Did I wake you?” His brother sounded a little breathless. 

“Uh, no. I was actually just thinking of you.”

Dean snorted. “Who could blame you? Listen, I got some news.”

He rolled his eyes but smiled at the enthusiasm. He hadn't heard Dean so excited about anything...maybe for years. “What's up?”

“I got a job.”

Sam frowned immediately. “A...a job? A job job or a job?”

“A job. Sammy, a job.”

“A job like a job you and Bela-”

“No! Jesus, Sammy! Would I call you to tell you I...Would you just trust me, you overgrown-”

“Okay!” he said quickly. “Okay! But...you've got to admit, you're only ever this happy when you're working a job.”

“I am! A real fucking job! At a bar! I'm going to tend a damn bar!” he cried in frustration. 

Sam's eyebrows peaked. “Like...a bar?”

“Oh my god. Sam, I'm going to kick your ass at the very next opportunity.”

He flushed red. “I'm sorry. Dude, that's great! Where?”

“It's a roadhouse out by the interstate. Kind of a middle of nowhere hole.”

“I didn't realize we had any nowhere in Palo Alto.”

“Neither did I. Seems I can find nowhere no matter where I am.”

Sam laughed happily. “Dude, that's really awesome. Seriously. I'm...I'm proud of you, you know? I didn't even know you were looking for work. When do you start?”

“Training under the manager tonight. Gonna meet the owner too. Ellen somebody. I don't know, man. I got a real good feeling about this. But-but listen. If I'm going to make this work, I gotta have a permanent address, you know? And I guess I gotta have my real name on it. Haven't used Winchester since before Dad died. But if I'm really gonna go straight, like you want…Living out of the car isn't going to work for long.”

“Dean, Andy and Lily said you can stay as long as you want. Just stop stealing their stash.”

Dean’s voice was brighter than Sam could remember hearing it for years. “I won't need it. I got a good feeling...Sam, I didn't realize how bad I needed to get to work. I need it.”

Fondness washed over him in a wave. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I know. I am proud of you, man. This is going to be real good for you.”

“I know you don't like how I got it, but I got enough cash to help with rent till I get a check. And I'll work nights, so I won't be trouble. I'll crash all day, and work all night. It'll be like I ain't even there.”

Sam smiled softly. “I hope not,” he said. “I might like you being there. And...and I'm not at the apartment myself right now.”

“No kidding. Came in and it's clear you ain't been there the whole time I was gone. You off getting touched by an angel?”

Hazel green eyes closed as the heat pinked his cheeks again. “I went home with Cas. Yes. I'll see you back at the apartment later.”

“You got protection?”

“Of course! Jesus, Dean!”

There came a bright cackle over the line. “Just wondering if you're as smart as they say you are. Okay. Have fun. I trust you. Make good decisions.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

He sighed and ended the call. He was happy for his brother. And it was the perfect addition for his photography story, as he explained to Castiel over breakfast.

“You think I can do that? Is that trying to do too much?” he fretted, drawing his lip between his teeth. 

Castiel beamed at him. “Soulless, my ass. You'll blow Blake away if you can make it work.”

“But can I? I mean, it's just an idea. I don't really know how I'll do it yet.”

“And that is why you called me,” Castiel reminded him. 

Sam smiled.


	9. Special Guest Star Fake Ruby

Working with Sam over the next two weeks was the greatest of pleasures. The man was six feet of beautiful, brilliant, sincere passion, and four and a half inches of pure, clumsy delight. They spent far more time together than was strictly necessary for the portfolio.

Dr. Blake asked him about Sam a few days in while he was working on some of his own projects. “Is he hopeless?” she teased with a glint of fun in her eyes.

Castiel whirled on her. “No! He's incredible! How could you call that man soulless?!”

She simply smiled.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You gave him my number,” he said slowly.

The young professor shrugged. “The way you watched him sometimes from across the studio, I just assumed you'd like to help him academically. He needed the help. And you seemed interested in helping. I apologize if you would have preferred I didn't pair you with a struggling beginner.”

A crooked grin gave him away, and refused to leave his face. When he trusted his voice, he cleared his throat to respond. “He's, um...got a lot of potential, Professor. I think I'm going to like working with him.”

Dr. Blake shrugged. “Whatever you think is best. I hope to be impressed by his final project. His work has been fairly meaningless so far. An encyclopedic knowledge of the guts of a camera does not a photographer make. But as you say, he's got some potential. Very smart. I think he simply needs an artistic muse.” She winked at him and turned to join her other students, the struggling beginners, one of which was gazing out across the studio at a grinning senior.

Castiel shook his head, and got back to work.

The project was a great idea, but it took some effort to coordinate it. Some of the shots, Sam set up, but Castiel was the one who actually took the photographs. In other cases, Sam had to do so himself, and Castiel found it endearing the way the young man seemed intimidated the moment the camera was in his own hands. Some photos worked. Others did not. It turned out that Sam did have some rudimentary talent when it came to the final display of the shots. He shyly suggested things from where he stood with his chest to Castiel's back, his arms around his waist, while the older student worked to put the display together. Every time Sam whispered something into his ear, the warm breath made Castiel shiver. It took longer than it should have, but neither of them minded at all.

At last, it was ready to submit. Sam had insisted on writing a synopsis of his work, explaining it where Castiel knew no explanation was necessary.

“It's good!” he assured him. “You've told the story you wanted to tell.”

“But how would anyone be able to interpret-”

“Sam!” he laughed, taking his lover’s hands into his, and bringing them to his lips to kiss. “Sam. It's good. You've done what you set out to do.”

The hazel eyes revealed an insecurity Castiel knew he couldn't kiss away overnight. “It's better than it would have been without you. But is it good enough? I can't...I can't fail this class. And I almost think...I almost think I'd rather fail the class itself than...than to fail at this one project. It started out as an annoyance. Now…”

Castiel smiled at him softly. “And now it's a piece of your soul being judged.”

Sam made a groan that sounded like a whimper. “Thought I didn't have one of those.”

“I think you have a beautiful one,” he reminded him. “And this project came out really well, Sam. If I didn't think so, I would say something else, like I thought you put in a lot of great effort.”

He laughed and kissed Castiel's nose. It was something they did to one another as often as possible now. “So you'd be really nice about how much I suck.”

“I would,” he promised. “But you don't. You're not an artist, and that's fine. But you've created some great art, and I hope you're proud of it.”

“I am,” he murmured. “Or...I will be if Dr. Blake thinks so.”

Castiel shook his head. “You can't settle all your worth on your grade point average, Sam.”

“I don't!” he protested. “But it's a convenient measurement of a student’s value. And...and I'm not much else. Other than stuff you put on a resume, I...don't have much else. So if I fail a course, what does that say about me?”

“What is your GPA, Sam?” Castiel sighed.

“That isn't the point! It can't get much higher, but it could crash down instantly if I blink too long! I'm not...Cas, I've conned the whole world into thinking I'm something like I'm not. I'm on the damn Honor Council, for god's sake. Me. As if I don't come from a family of frauds. I'm not what everyone thinks I am, and if they find out...I just don't know what that would make me. I can't do better than I'm doing now. I'm at the top of my class. But it could all be gone in a second if anyone gets too good a look at me, and realizes it's all a big con.”

Castiel shook his head sadly. “Sam, I can see you. And you're brilliant. And I've looked at you pretty closely these two weeks, from every angle, in every light. I showed you those photos I've taken of you, and you know I don't miss anything with my camera. I've looked at you, and I know it's not all going to come crashing down, even if you fail a few times, because you're the real thing. And I'm not just talking about your classes.”

Sam was watching him suspiciously.

“Listen to me. You are a good man. You put others first in everything you do. You worry about your brother constantly. I mean, look at this. No, come here. Look at it.”

“I don't want to,” he whined breathlessly.

But Castiel laughed and remained firm. “I know you don't. But you need to. Indulge me. You could have done anything for your project. But you chose to capture your brother remaking himself from the ground up. Sam, look at this.”

The worried gaze slid toward the photographs on display, page after page of Dean’s green eyes. The first sets of eyes appeared dull; they showed a bored, cynical man. Then came the series of eyes full of heartbreaking fear, of shame, of uncertainty, then a few with piercing anger, impatience and frustration, which were nearly painful to view. The images gradually became softer, showing eyes that exposed only weariness. But soon, there came the relief of eyes that communicated hope and humor. These showed a Dean who was healthier, more confident, smirking, mischievous, brighter. At the very end of the portfolio, there was the only image of Dean’s whole face, with the car behind him, looking at Sam as if to ask him what he was doing, as if to ask why he was a worthy subject of Sam's camera. The title of the piece was “The Road So Far.”

“You managed to tell your brother's story with respect and sincerity, and it turned out beautifully.”

“I hope Dean doesn't hate it. I...I probably won't show him. He wouldn't know. He doesn't need to know.”

Castiel sighed, and smiled. “No. He doesn't. But you need to show him.”

Sam's face was becoming pale. “No! No, I really don't!”

He laughed, but not unkindly. “Of course you do. You've been sneaking around him with your camera for weeks. You've poured your whole heart into capturing your brother at his most intimate.”

“You're going to make me throw up. I can't show him.”

Castiel kissed him gently. “Sam, you've said your brother is a con artist. Do any of these show the real Dean?”

Sam scowled at his work. “Yeah. I tossed any shots of Magnus I found.”

“What?”

“Nothing. Yeah. They're all the real him. That's my brother. That's not any of the things my brother pretends to be.”

“And you've chronicled the way he's gone from feeling lost through his self-doubt, through the frustrations of learning to be something he's never had to be.”

Sam sighed. “Himself.”

Castiel nodded. “And he's happy now. Or he's getting there. It's going to be a long haul. I know. I'm still trying to figure out who the hell Castiel is after all this time. But don't you think you'd like to show him how proud you are of him? Don't you think he'd like to see himself the way you see him? Don't you want to let him know that after everything he's done, he's still an inspiration to you? Don't you think he should get the chance to see that his hard work inspired yours? And maybe he would like to know that he doesn't have to be anyone other than himself, because just like you, he's the real deal. Beneath the masks he's put on, he's got a good soul. He might like to see it. For that matter? He might like to see this little piece of your soul too.”

There were tears sparkling in Sam's sweet gaze now, and Castiel just wanted to hold him.

“Sam, let the professor grade it. Put it away for a time. Then when you think you can, promise me you'll show your brother your proof that each of you are exactly what you're supposed to be.”

An odd expression crossed the handsome face then, and Sam frowned a little. “And what about you, Cas? Are you going to be able to stop worrying about whether you're the guy people expect you to be? Do you think you can do what you want, what'll make you happy, without being afraid of not living up to something impossible?”

Castiel chewed on his lip for a moment, then he smiled anxiously. “I honestly don't know. But I'm going to do it anyway. My agent sent me two scripts. One of them is garbage. But the other…” He took a deep breath. “It's good. It's...Anyway, they want me to read for a producer I used to work with, who remembers me every time he's got a new project.”

Sam grinned at him. “So you're going to do it?”

He snorted uneasily. “Yeah, probably me and three dozen other guys. And when they see how rusty I am, they'll thank me politely, and I'll never see another advance script again.”

His lover took him into his arms, and warmth embraced him everywhere. “That's great, Cas. I'm so proud of you. But remember what you said, right? Failing a few times doesn't mean you're done.” He lifted Castiel's chin to kiss him, then stood back. It was exasperating the way Sam was perfectly happy now that the conversation was no longer about him. “Okay,” he said with a renewed energy. “This was my last big project. I've got a research paper to turn in, but it's mostly done. Pass or fail, I'm done with photography, and I'm good in everything else. So? How do I help?”

The man was positively amazing, perfect in a way Castiel feared he would never be able to catch on camera. He laughed at the enthusiasm. “Sex,” he suggested. “Definitely sex. Then maybe I'll read to you, and you can see why I'm worried about letting down everyone who still remembers me.”

“But sex first,” Sam clarified.

“Absolutely.”


	10. Stunts by Kevin Metatran

Carver sat quietly in the center of the room. He was flanked by his entourage, but Castiel could tell at once that Joshua was still the only one who mattered. The man he knew must be Bartholomew looked him over with skepticism, and looked at Cecily, who shrugged with a smirk behind her glasses.

“Thank you for coming,” Bartholomew sighed. “You'll be reading for Collin.”

Castiel nodded. His stomach was a mass of knots, but not in a bad way. He remembered this. He did this. And he had done it for Carver. Carver, who had practically been his father for years, who had been the one who let him speak up as a child when he had ideas no one else cared about, who had given him creative freedom and kind direction when he faced challenges, who had never dismissed him because he was young. Carver was the one who had taught him what it meant to be a craftsman, and who had treated him as a professional. Carver was the one who had the studio send him advance scripts, even when Castiel himself insisted he was finished with the whole industry.

The last instant that he was Castiel was spent giving Carver a fond, reverent smile.

Then he was Collin.

The transition was subtle. Some actors preferred to slam into a character, as though the dramatic, abrupt change held more impact this way. Castiel felt it was more effective as a metamorphosis, to creep gently into the skin of another mind. He wasn't method. In truth, he wasn't technical at all, certainly not anymore. But he was meticulous. Every movement and breath was for Collin’s purposes. He had the advantage of having read part of the working script for this pilot, and he thought he knew what the writers were thinking of doing with Collin. Even if he were wrong, he hoped it would show some range.

He read to Joshua. Joshua was all that mattered.

The script didn't specifically say that the show was meant to have a post-apocalyptic setting. He suspected that would be a slow reveal throughout the first hour. But he knew Carver. There was something supernatural here. Either it was Collin or it was something Collin was meant to be reacting to.

Either way, he created a Collin who was just a little anxious, just a touch off, whose paranoia could be seen just at the edges of his calm. It was a dummy script; he was certain of that. It didn't matter. It was the story in front of him, so he told it. A kid who had introduced himself quietly as Alfie was reading for the other character.

As he finished his read, he glanced at Bartholomew and smiled with a bone-deep relief. Called back or not, he had given a stunning audition. The sparkle in Carver’s eyes confirmed what he knew by instinct.

Bartholomew looked back at Joshua, who nodded once. Then he addressed Castiel again. “We would like you to also read for Dimitri.” He handed him a new scene, which was for the same two characters.

Castiel gave a very slight frown, and watched Carver, who smiled at him. He swallowed back a touch of disappointment. “Okay. Yes, sir.” He turned to Alfie. “Be good to Collin,” he teased. “I barely knew him.”

Alfie flashed him a grin.

“Cas.”

It was Carver’s small voice, barely heard, but somehow powerful in the small room. It received the attention of everyone in the room at once.

“Cas, he won't be reading Collin. You will. We would like to hear you read both roles.”

Castiel's tongue darted out to lick his lips. His eyes narrowed to slits as he concentrated on what Carver wanted from him. “At the same time?”

“Yes. Please, if you would.”

And Castiel would do anything if Carver asked him, even if he weren't intrigued already. “Yes, sir,” he breathed. He did not even take an instant to think. He transitioned again to Collin, and delivered his line.

_“I'm not going to tell you I'm not afraid,” Collin whispered hoarsely._

_Dimitri smirked, nearly snarled. “I'm not going to tell you there's no reason to be afraid.”_

_Collin began breathing shallowly. “Then why are you here? I haven't seen you...It's been years.”_

_“I've always been there, though, haven't I? Direct open line. Just have to know how to dial. I've been there. Tucked away,” Dimitri sighed gleefully, “right in here.” The three final syllables were punctuated with taps on his own forehead with his fingertips._

_Collin reacted to this with a slight flinch, and a step back. “Why are you here?” he insisted._

_“Why am I here? We're a team, you and I! Am I not your guardian?”_

_“Guardian!” Collin spat, finally becoming angry._

_“Yes, guardian! I took you as vessel as you lay dying! I healed you! I protected you, hid you away to sleep in safety during the apocalypse! I may have been made for war, but I protected you with all my might.”_

_“Guardian? You destroyed me!”_

_“I need you again. We need one another again. There is a darkness coming that will destroy your world-”_

_“And there is always another darkness! Why does it have to be me? Misha, you…”_

Castiel stopped.

There was silence all around him.

“Misha?” he whispered, falling entirely out of character. He stared at the script, then turned to Carver in shock.

He was smiling at him. “It's been a long time, Castiel. Do you think you could still play him?”

The young man's mouth opened but nothing came out.

Joshua cleared his throat. “Castiel, I can cast a different Misha. But no one could resurrect him and his vessel like the one who breathed life into them the first time around. And you told Gabriel you were on board for a reunion. Your agent confirmed it.”

His breath came shallowly, as a dozen emotions attacked him all at once. “But...but that was for...that was just…”

“Selling box sets?” Carver said with amusement.

“Yeah!” he blurted out. “I thought...I thought we were just talking about getting together to answer some questions and renew interest in the old show…”

“There's already plenty of interest, Cas. So much that the studio is ready to commit to a return. I'll be writing and producing. Gabriel wants to be a producer. And of course Joshua is bringing back as many of the old cast and crew as we can. And we thought you might like to work a bit with the directors and camera crew, considering your interest in photography, whenever you're not in front of the camera yourself."

“You're bringing back _Angels Among Us_?” he whispered in shock.

“That's the idea. Are you-”

“Yes!”

Carver smiled at him as the promise fell out of his mouth. “Yes?”

He turned to Joshua. “Yes. Don't cast anyone else for Misha. He's mine.”

Joshua chuckled quietly. “And his vessel too.”

Castiel frowned suddenly. “His vessel...I don't understand. His vessel, the kid, he was dead. That's how Misha...That's why he took that form in the first place. Isn't it? Am I remembering it wrong?”

Carver cleared his throat. “No. That's what Misha said. But we’ll reveal in the pilot that Misha was protecting the boy. He felt a kindred connection to him, as his soul was just about to be reaped, and he saved him. He lied to protect him, placed him deep into his own self-conscious to keep him safe and asleep while he fought evil on earth. Then he ascended back to heaven in the series finale. Now there's a new threat on earth, and he needs a vessel to battle it. The kid grew up seemingly well-adjusted. Became a priest, in fact. But inside, he-”

“He knows Misha will be back for him,” Castiel breathed. “He can feel that the story isn't over, for either of them.”

Carver sighed happily. “I told you, Joshua. He's still Castiel.”

The older man simply nodded. “Cas, we know you graduate shortly. Of course we don't want anything getting in the way of that.”

The actor closed his eyes in relief, and laughed. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

“Of course. We're putting the team together and filming will begin in August. Crowley is ready to negotiate a new contract for you. The studio is negotiating with Balt and Raphael currently, and Michael is playing coy, but we think he'll drop that as soon as he knows you're on board.”

He shook his head. “Why me?” he wondered.

“You're the heart of the show, Cas. You're the soul.”

“You mean Misha,” he said dubiously.

Carver looked into his eyes. “Cas, you are Misha.”

“And Collin,” Joshua added.

“And Collin.”

Castiel smiled, then lifted an eyebrow. “Who's Dimitri?”

Alfie lifted his hand. “I am. That is, I’ll be playing Dimitri. A friend of Collin’s, who provides the link back to his human life. He's Collin’s one condition, that Dimitri comes too so he can keep him safe, and Dimitri can keep him human. They're…” He looked at Carver.

“They're lovers, Cas. It will be hinted at but not explicitly stated for a long while. And Collin will have kept things physically platonic between them, because-”

Castiel interrupted again. “Because he's a priest, and he took a vow. But when Misha pulls him away from that life, he's free to allow the relationship to turn physical. And what about Misha?”

The excitement in his voice seemed to please Carver. “Misha will be forced to consider his vessel in all his decisions this time around. He's no longer a sleeping kid. Now he's said yes to possession, but only if Misha doesn't push him to the back this time, and if he can keep his relationship with Dimitri. So we can add a bit of awkward angel moments, when Misha takes control of the vessel at inopportune times. I'm even thinking of a mini arc, to add some humor, when Collin and Dimitri are feuding, and Misha has to play go-between, because they won't speak to one another.”

“I can't believe you're considering a gay main character,” he added softly.

“Will that be a problem?” Cecily asked.

He had forgotten she and Bartholomew were even in the room. He smirked. “No. Not a problem at all.” He glanced at Alfie. “Casting doesn't do research anymore?” he teased.

Alfie laughed. “I did a bit myself,” he murmured. “I saw a picture of your actual boyfriend, and I gotta admit to being a little intimidated.”

Castiel laughed.

Sam laughed too when he heard. “Good. I'm glad he knows I’ll be watching,” he said. “And this time, I _will_ be watching. Cas, I'm so proud of you! You left this morning saying you were off to be rejected. You come back saying you're the star of a show they're building because you blew everybody away ten years ago, and they never got over it.”

He shook his head. “I called Hannah to rip her up for not telling me. She said she didn't want to put any pressure on me. She's already signed on. Everyone has. I'm the last cog.” He sighed anxiously. “I guess I could have been the spanner in the works.”

“What's that mean?”

Castiel looked up and smiled. “Something Balt used to say. And Naomi. God, even Naomi. I can't believe this is going to happen. How did they manage to keep this all so quiet?” He took Sam's hand. “You've got to promise you won't tell a soul. We could both get sued for leaking information about a project like this.”

“Not a soul,” Sam vowed. They were quiet for a moment, each lost in his own thoughts. Then Sam smiled. “Cas? Something a lot less earth shattering happened to me today. Two somethings.”

“Yeah?” Castiel found that he was nearly relieved to be talking about Sam instead. “Tell me.”

A sweet pink flush bloomed on his lover’s cheeks. “I got my grade for the portfolio.”

“Already? Exams aren't even over yet!”

“Ours are. So I...I kind of...may have staked out Dr. Blake’s office.”

Castiel laughed and kissed his nose. “You're impossible. Okay. So tell me.”

“She gave it an A. She graded it right in front of me, critiqued it like it was real art, and then gave me the bottom line. I passed. I...I got a B for the course.”

“That's great! Sam, that's really awesome! And it is real art, babe!”

Sam shrugged shyly, but his smile grew. “And...I showed Dean when I got home.”

Castiel watched him closely. “And?”

***

“What the hell is that?” Dean demanded.

Sam stood his ground, even if he were beginning to regret being there at all. “I needed a subject for my project. And your ugly mug was always in the way anyway, so…”

Dean flipped through it in complete bewilderment. “What the hell is this?” he said again, softer this time. “Sam, if this were any other person, I'd be completely and totally creeped out. As it is, I'm just mostly creeped out. Seriously, what the hell? How did you even get these…?”

“You're not the only one Dad trained to case a potential victim.”

His brother looked up to stare at him. “You...you stalked me?”

Sam swallowed hard.

Dean snorted softly. “I don't know if I'm pissed off or totally proud of you.” He looked at the photos in earnest now, pausing to frown at each set of eyes. When he got to the ones in the middle, the ones filled with anger and frustration, he took a shuddered breath. “I never realized how much I look like Dad. I never thought we looked alike at all.”

The younger man was silent. His heart was pounding. “Dean…”

Then he laughed a little. “Who the hell is that handsome guy? You could have made your whole book out of him! What's with all the others? If I'd known you were watching-”

“You would have turned on Magnus,” Sam snapped bitterly. “And this project was about my brother, not Dean Magnus. Not the bastard my brother created because he didn't think Dean Winchester was good enough, the son of John Magnus, the only part of Dad we were ever allowed to know. This is about my brother, who is working harder to be himself than he ever had to work to be somebody fake. So no. I didn't only use photos of you smiling. I didn't use the ones that I looked back at only to realize it was Magnus playing someone instead of my brother. These are photos of Dean Winchester, the guy I know is more than a con artist, the one who never got the chance to figure out who he really is, because Dad had him running jobs before he was even twelve.”

Dean was staring hard at a photograph in the beginning, in which he was clearly fighting back tears. His eyes were far too green, far too bright, rimmed in red and filled with exhaustion. It was the most heartbreaking image Sam had included.

“Dean, you've been some variation of Magnus for so long; you've had so many names and so many personalities. Watching you the past few weeks, trying to rely on skills other than those Dad beat into you...Jesus, Dean, you can hack into a guy's bank account but creating your own profile on Netflix eluded you a few days ago!”

“I'm not...I wasn't trained to be a real person, Sammy,” he said hoarsely. “I didn't realize it before, but...but I don't know how. Past few weeks, I been screwing up the simplest stuff at the bar...I know every cocktail that's ever been made, but you know I never made a cup of coffee in my life? Encyclopedic knowledge of wine and beer and what fork to use when, but I can't polish a glass to save my life. Every night, I think Benny’s going to give up on me. It eats up my stomach, man. I can crack a safe, but I nearly flooded the bar trying to set off a dishwasher last night. Dean Winchester is fucking useless, Sammy. Dean Magnus was the one who knew how to do anything. I'm a complete idiot without him.”

Sam shook his head. “No! Dean, you're not! All that other stuff will come! What's important is that you're starting over! You're moving past Magnus! Of course it's going to be a bitch of a transition! But you aren't giving up. I know how bad you want to. But you haven't, and you won't. Because my brother is the strongest guy I ever met. He never backed down from a challenge in his life. Look at this one.” He pointed to a set of eyes with a sharp, intelligent glint, an eyebrow raised in quiet, patient focus. “Know what this is?”

Dean sighed and looked, as if he were indulging his little brother. Then he frowned. “Kind of looks like you,” he said in a voiceless breath. “I mean…” His freckles flushed instantly. “I just mean…”

“You mean focused?” Sam prompted.

“Not like you. I mean, obviously not like you. Fucking genius. Nerd. But…” He shook his head. “I think you got this one wrong, dude. That's me as Magnus.”

“Why?” Sam challenged. “Because he's clearly smart? That why he looks like me? Because he's intelligent and focused?”

Dean took another shaky breath. “Dude, I'm just saying. That ain't me. I don't-I don't want to talk about this any-”

“Dean, you might not know my brother, but I do. And that's him. That's the guy I've looked up to my whole life.”

His eyes closed.

“Yeah.” Sam shook his head. “Yeah, you don't like that, do you? To think I've been looking up to you. But I have, and it was never Magnus who was my hero, man. It's you.”

“Sammy, stop…”

“I'm dating a guy who lives under the shadow of a fictional character, who worries that he’ll never live up to that character, no matter what he does in his life. My big brother is exactly the same. And here I am loving you both. This project, man, it's just a way to capture why. It's a way to show you what I see when I look at you. It ain't Magnus. It ain't Dad. And it ain't me. It's my big brother. And he's more than good enough. So give the guy a break.”

Dean was struggling against his emotion now. He blinked rapidly, and glowered through stubborn tears. “Yeah. Thank you, Sammy.” He looked up quickly. “Sam. I mean Sam.”

He beamed at his hero happily. “You know what? I don't mind so much. But nobody gets to call me that but you.”

At last, a real smile emerged. “Thanks, Sammy,” he said again. “Really. I never want to see it again. But I'm glad you showed me.”

Sam wondered. “It'll be on my shelf if you ever change your mind,” he remarked neutrally.

Dean narrowed his eyes at the photography project. “I won't. That's enough freaking Freud and Friends for me. I'm gonna go watch the series finale of Angels Among Us. Want to?”

***

Castiel laughed. “He's watched the whole series, huh?”

“Evidently. I saw the pilot and the finale, and some scenes in between. I guess I've got some catching up to do.”

“I'm glad he liked the project.”

Sam snickered. “Oh, he didn't. He hated it. But I made him stand there and listen to me say I'm proud of him, and that's all I wanted. And I kind of enjoy the way he's completely paranoid now. All afternoon, he's been looking over his shoulder, to see if I'm stalking him. That's going to be fun for a long time.”

His lover smiled and ran his hands over Sam’s strong arms. “You are a little brother, aren't you?”

“Always,” he confirmed. “So? I've got my soul back, and you're an angel again. Want to celebrate?”

“Always,” Castiel repeated, and he pressed into Sam’s embrace, more content than he thought perhaps he had been in his whole life.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are better than royalties from box set sales. ;)
> 
> ~Posing


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